About the Father of Ginny's Baby
by Islander2
Summary: Ginny Potter has just given birth to a baby boy. The only problem is, she knows it doesn’t belong to her husband. Worse still, Ron seems to have guessed her terrible secret! Oneshot. Over 1000 reads!


A/N: Woot! Only three weeks since I last posted a one-shot! I should get brownie points for this.

Warning: To imitate the MPAA, this story is rated PG-13 for mature thematic elements and brief strong language. If you are easily disturbed, you might want to opt out in favor of one of my G-rated stories.

Disclaimer: As if all the others disclaimers weren't enough. . . Please believe me when I say I'm making not a cent off this and that it all belongs to the wonderful JK.

**About the Father of Ginny's Baby**

**By Islander**

St. Mungo's was no longer as unnerving as Ginny had previously seen it to be. True, there were some crazy accidents wandering around the place—an old wizard with toilet paper sprouting from his head, a professional-looking witch with fingers that had grown nostrils and started dripping mucus, a child who thought she was a house-elf, and a house-elf who thought she was a child, all amongst the numerous bizarre complaints that the patients in this hospital suffered.

But, in the end, it was just a regular hospital. There was the ward for witches and wizards recovering from dragon pox, another ward for people who suffered magical animal bites, and a large cluster of rooms for patients who labored under the burden of memory loss. Then there was witches like the twenty-year-old Ginny Potter, sitting quietly in bed with their first child in their arms.

Ginny's own child was quite a large bundle for a newborn boy. He measured in at 21.5 inches and 10 pounds, 3 ounces. His legs and arms seemed unnaturally long for a baby's, as if the youngster had decided even in his infancy that he would grow to be as tall as Uncle Ron. To finish it off, the baby already had a full head of hair; the doctors had washed away the blood from his crown, but still his short little locks remained a flaming red.

"He got all the Weasley genes, that's for sure," Harry declared fondly as he gazed at his little boy. He had come to pick up his wife from the hospital, and Ron and Hermione Weasley tagged along. "He looks just like you, Ron. See, he's even got your long nose!"

"And so you named him Ronald, after his uncle," Hermione said, her grinning at her two friends. "Hmm, a clever idea, but before you know it, that baby will reach the age when he refuses to be called 'Little Ron.' Then where will we be?" Harry laughed heartily and said that they'd figure something out when that time came.

"Can I hold him, Ginny?" Ron asked eagerly. He stepped forward and nearly tripped over Hermione's feet. His sister shrank back in alarm and held the baby tightly to her chest.

"Little Ron's a right screamer, mate," Harry warned his best friend. "Bloody near wailed his head off when I picked him up. He won't have anyone but his mum." He smiled affectionately at Ginny and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. She managed a small smile in return.

"So can I hold him?" Ron repeated.

Ginny gave Little Ron a kiss and handed him reluctantly to his uncle. "Make sure you _don't drop him_!" she said, fiercely protective of her little one, who had started to cry again.

"Never," Ron promised, and he took the little child in his arms. Miraculously, the baby stopped crying and stared up at his uncle with wide blue eyes. For a moment there was silence in the room, broken only by Harry's incredulous cough. Then Little Ron smiled!—a small smile it was, but one of pure pleasure.

"He seems to really like you," Hermione remarked with raised eyebrows. "Harry, I thought you said he cried when he wasn't with Ginny." She held out her arms, and Ron reverently passed the infant over to her.

"He does," Harry said, still quite shocked. "He wailed like a banshee when I held him. Maybe he's getting over—"

Little Ron interrupted him with a loud shriek as tears rolled in fat drops down his face. He reached out for his uncle and opened his mouth even wider to allow for a greater volume of noise. Harry winced and covered his ears. Hermione simply giggled and passed the baby back to Ron.

Little Ron stopped crying again. Ron grinned proudly at the other three adults and rocked his little nephew with surprising gentleness. In a matter of minutes the swaddled infant was asleep in the man's firm arms.

Harry scratched his head and held back another incredulous cough. "No fair," he ribbed his best mate. "He didn't do that for _me_."

----------

On the way to St. Mungo's Floo Network fireplaces Harry and Hermione gabbled contentedly, talking mainly about the new baby. Ginny, however, was silent. A nagging thought had entered her head when that baby came out of the womb, and by now she was convinced without a shadow of a doubt that this unnerving idea was true.

Harry was not the father of Little Ron.

She had no proof, but she could feel it in her lower guts—a turning, churning certainty that Harry had no connection with the sleeping child she now held in her smooth arms. It was a maternal instinct, she realized—the most powerful and most certain evidence in the world, but never proof enough for anyone to believe.

Strangely, Ron had also fallen quiet. He held Hermione loosely in his arm, but he seemed to be in another world entirely. He gazed up at the smooth plaster ceiling or the bare white walls as if he saw great visions on their blank surfaces. Then, every so often, he'd glance at Ginny. This she found unnerving.

_What's he thinking?_ she asked herself. _Does he know? Holy Merlin, what will he do if he realizes what I've realized? He'll be furious!_ She chewed on the inside of her lip and shot a nervous glance at Ron as they all stepped into the Floo.

----------

When the four adults and the new baby arrived at the Potter residence, a large, not-quite-mansion house with extensive grounds and a view of the sea, they found that the entire Weasley clan was there to give Ginny and Little Ron a homecoming welcome.

It took a full hour to get away from that lot. But Ginny found an excuse when Little Ron woke up and started crying. The whole family crew saw this as a cue to huddle around the little child and coo soft words of comfort in his wide-eyed face. This only made him cry louder.

"I think he needs to be put to bed," Ginny said, a bit peeved from all the cooing, which only made things worse. All eight Weasleys plus Harry and Hermione offered to help.

"Or maybe I should nurse him first," she added, scowling at the lot of them. They offered their help again, obviously not caring a whit about her privacy.

It took another ten minutes to convince them that the baby would actually be better off with her alone. Even so, Molly Weasley was convinced that her little daughter could use some help. "Or maybe you lot should make a dinner while I take care of the baby!" Ginny suggested, trying to keep the shout out of her highly vexed voice.

That got rid of her mum—and the rest of her family, for that matter. They meant well, but (bugger it all!) they were sometimes so overbearing it made her want to Transfigure them into diapers!

Thankfully, Harry and Ginny's room was on the other side of the house from the kitchen, so Ginny got some peace and quiet as she nursed her newborn child. For fifteen blissful minutes she spent some alone time with Little Ron against her breast. His eyes were closed in contentment as he sucked hungrily at the milk, and hers were open as she gazed lovingly at her son and stroked his soft red hair.

It was as she started to burp him after nursing that the door opened up. It was her brother Ron. "Hi," he said nervously as he took a seat on the edge of Harry and Ginny's king-sized bed. "How're you holding up?"

"Great," Ginny answered automatically. She suddenly remembered the strange glances Ron had given her on the way home from St. Mungo's, and her heart seized up in her chest. Had Ron guessed the truth about his namesake?

Ron fiddled with the edge of the soft blue rug that covered the bed. He didn't meet Ginny's eyes as he took a deep breath, then let it out again. Suddenly his head shot up and he matched Ginny's gaze with a curious intensity in his blue eyes. "I know about Little Ron," he said, his chest heaving.

Ginny's heart skipped a beat or three. "What?" she whispered, although she knew full well what Ron was talking about.

"Harry's not his dad," Ron continued as a cold sweat ran down his shaking brow.

"How did you know?" she asked, her voice hard and hostile. She held Little Ron closer to her chest as she herself backed up into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed.

"How could I _not_ know?" Ron returned, highly distressed. "I'm not book-smart like Hermione; I don't have Harry's instincts. But I'm not dumb, either—there're things others can't guess that I know for a fact. And I _know_ which man that child belongs to!"

"_Don't you dare tell anyone one_!" Ginny cried, highly strung now that her unsettling maternal instinct had found its outlet. "By Merlin's name, don't you dare. . ."

Ron scooted away from her in alarm and nearly fell off the edge of the bed. "But I _know_," he whispered. "How can we hide something like this?"

"Easily," Ginny said coldly. "You don't want to mess up my marriage with Harry, do you? I'm happy with him—happier than I ever was before. And you'd see all that gone just for a past mistake that should be better off forgotten?"

"Past mistake?!" Ron cried passionately. "Is that what you think of your relationship with—"

"Don't say it!" Ginny screamed back. "By Merlin's name, don't you fucking say it!"

There was an intense silence which Little Ron broke a few seconds later by crying. Ginny cooed softly at him and brushed away his tears.

The older Ron was also crying, though his tears were silent as they slid down his rough cheeks. "Is that child in your arms a mistake, then?" he asked his sister, disappointment etched in his features. "Is Little Ron a mistake produced from a mistake of a relationship?"

"No," Ginny answered acidly, glaring at her older brother. "Little Ron is my child. And, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, he's Harry's child, too. He belongs to us and no one else! A relationship of nine months ago doesn't matter in the least."

"Doesn't matter?" Ron whispered, his voice breaking. "How could you say that, Ginny? How can you pretend that the relationship didn't exist?"

"If it's going to ruin my life with Harry, you'll bet I'll pretend," she answered icily.

"You do realize, Ginny," Ron said softly, "that this lie won't go away. Even if no one ever guesses, _I_ still know. It'll destroy our own relationship—you know this."

"Consider it destroyed," Ginny returned, no longer looking at her brother. For a moment neither of them said a word. Then Ron spun on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind them.

Little Ron started crying again, and Ginny cried with him. How could she have said that to her own brother? She loved him in a special way that she loved no one else. She didn't want to lose the bond they had, but at the same time she knew Ron was right: it was going to be destroyed anyway. The past had come back to haunt her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She gathered rocked Little Ron in her arms. "Today, my darling," she whispered softly, "you knew who your true father was. I expect you'll know for a few months to come. But, as you grow up, we're going to trick you into believing that it's Harry."

Little Ron had stopped crying. He gazed up at her with sleepy eyes as she continued, "Yet deep in your heart you'll always feel the truth, even if you never know it. You felt the truth even today—you let your daddy hold you when everyone else made you cry. You can feel him in the role that rightly belongs to him."

The child in her arms smiled at her, as if in agreement. "I can, too, you know," she confessed. "Even if your dad will never be able to claim his position, he'll always be a Floo-trip away. I'll never forget him.

"How can I? After all, he looks just like you."

**The End**

A/N: One reviewer asked me if my last story, "Not Much To Look At" (A Madame Pomfrey/Harry one-shot) was a joke. No, it wasn't. And neither are any of my other stories, though a few of them may seem so. :D True, some of them are undoubtedly weird, but I get so into them that—while I'm writing them, at least—I feel like they're entirely normal. That's the secret to writing strange stories. The "hee-hee, look, a weird pairing!" is only the beginning of the story. Trying to make it sensible is the real work. That being said, I have a soft spot for well-written rarepairs and squicks, which are few and far between but still quite existent. Glad to have cleared that up!

If you loved the ending of this story, you'll also love my one-shot "Spinning in the Darkness", which pairs Harry with a mystery male. If you hated the ending of this story but loved my writing style, you may enjoy my more innocent G-rated stories. Please take a look at those stories and the rest that I have written.

Well, I'm off! Please leave a review while I collect the aforementioned brownie points.

Virtual XOXOXO's,

Islander2


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